Apple
by soulpicnic
Summary: Brittana fluff. Brittany's a genius in random things such as.. apples.


A/N: Sorry for the grammar mistakes.

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><p>"Brittany?" You hear Ms. Bennenbaum call your girlfriend from the front of the class, And there's something in her voice that flicks a protective switch in you. You bring down your right hand that was previously resting on the desk, just in case some sort of an intervention is needed. <em>What does this bitch has to say to Brittany now?<em>

You look to your right. Brittany's there. She's looking at your biology teacher with a smile. Unassuming. And you can't help but smile too.

"Explain to the whole class about the apple," Mrs. Bennenbaum says and you frown. _An apple? A freaking apple?_

"Um," Brittany says, looking briefly your way. "The apple?"

"Yes, the apple, Brittany. The fruit that we've been discussing for the past 20 minutes. Did you not pay attention, or is that skull of yours too thick that everything just crashes before anything gets into your brain?"

_Oh, hell no,_ you think. Your hand instantly balls up into a fist. Nobody talks to Brittany that way, and anybody who does gets a piping hot serving of Lima Heights. So you start to raise your arm up. But before you know it, the girl next to you, the one who's the current subject of snickering, suppressed laughter of the class, has her hand around your wrist.

You look questioningly at her, but she's not even facing you. Her eyes are locking with the ones challenging her at the front of the class. But you can read her, same as how she can read you.

_I got this, Santana, _you hear her voice bouncing on the walls of your head through her set jawline, and through the grip that's holding your wrist.

"Actually, Mrs. B," Brittany says right after she feels you relax. She lets go of your hand and continues. "I know a lot about apples. But I'm afraid you won't understand what I'm about to tell you. Unless you're also educated in the same things as I am, which I wouldn't know because you've never told us about anything other than the fact that the apple's latin name is Malus domestica— which, by the way, is actually the tree's name."

You smile a cocky smile hearing her answer. You smile even bigger when you look at your teacher, who's practically spewing hot steam from both her ears.

"Is that so?" the old lady asks, gritting her teeth. "Since you're obviously more educated than me, tell me everything you know then, _Brittany_." She makes a point to emphasize on your girlfriend's name to mock her and you decide that someone's tires are going to get slashed before school is over.

Your teacher walks over to her desk and sits down, leaning her back even further into the back of the chair to prove her apathy. "Go on," she says, and you've never wanted to bitch slap someone that hard before.

Brittany clears her throat. "Well, I'm not going to tell you about how apples are actually, um, shooting blanks— they have to cross-pollinate or whatever to develop the actual fruits— because you're gonna explain that to us next week. Plus, I don't think it's important cause it's not like you're going to use that in a conversation unless you're talking to _your_ kind of people, Mrs. B. You know, the ones who wear oversize blazers and could use a little bit of lipstick. No offense."

Mrs. Bennenbaum takes offense anyway. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, unconsciously pursing her lips. The whole class laughs and you can't help but feeling a bit proud at that moment.

"So. I'm just going to tell you an old story from Greece," Brittany stands up and talks to the whole class now. You watch her as her confidence grows and you inhale that air of pride surrounding you. Greek Mythology is her forte. Just like Disney movies and fairy tales, Brittany devours everything about it. "And, uh, I'm going to skip a lot of the parts, but you can ask Mr. Edwards about the details later. Anyway, one time, the goddess of discord, Eris, wasn't invited to a party. She was pissed. So she made a scene at the party by throwing a golden apple that has an inscription "for the most beautiful." Brittany looks at you and you blush. But you quickly recover when you realize that you're still in a classroom full of worthless people. Oh, and Quinn.

"So Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite almost got into a cat fight cause all three of them wanted to be the most beautiful, right? Eventually they asked Zeus, but Zeus was like, 'oh hell no, I'm not getting myself into this' and appointed Paris of Troy to decide. He eventually gave it to Aphrodite though, cause she bribed him with Helen of Sparta. Which of course then led to the Trojan War. You've seen the movie. Brad Pitt?" She asks the whole room and you see your classmates nod their heads with late realization that they've actually seen the movie.

_Idiots_. _You don't even know the whole story?_

"So there's that," Brittany concludes. "And I read something else the other day. From Plato."

You hear a scoff from where your teacher is sitting. _That bitch._

"Brittany," she says. "That's enough. I know you're trying to impress me, and I really am. But what could you possibly know about Plato? Even song lyrics confuse you. Now sit down before you misguide your fellow students with some poor understanding about a verse from Plato."

Your eyes grow wide and you open your mouth, ready for a war. But before your harsh Spanish words ever come out, you hear a familiar voice from the back of the room.

"Mrs. B. No offense, but biology is boring. I'd rather hear what Brittany has to say. Plus, you _did_ say you wanted to hear _everything_ that she knows about the fruit."

Quinn.

And she was followed by some mumbling from the rest of the class. They agree, and you shoot a look at your former cheerleader friend. You don't like it that she just took over your role, but you gave her a thankful smile anyway.

Mrs. Bennenbaum, shocked by the mutiny, sits back down on her chair and murmurs under her breath. "Fine," she says, and Brittany grins hard at Quinn. Then at you. Then at your classmates.

"Don't worry, Mrs. B. This one is short," Brittany smiles to your teacher. "So. I found this quote from Plato the other day. 'I throw this apple to you. And if you love me, who love you so, receive it gladly'— it was from one of his epi-something."

"Epigram, Britt," you gently correct her from your seat.

"Yes. Epigram. Thanks, Santana," she smiles at you and you give her a wink. "It was from one of his epigram," she continues. "And since the apple is kind of the symbol for love— you know, with Aphrodite being the receiver of the golden apple and all— he's saying that if you throw an apple to someone, it's just as good as revealing your feelings about that person. And if that person catches, or keep your apple, that means he or she receives your feelings. The end." A pause. "I think it's sweet," Brittany shrugs. She takes her seat next to you and she traces your hand with her fingers before she links your pinkies.

_You're awesome_, you send her one of your mental messages and she looks straight into your eyes. She gives your hand a short squeeze and a smile and you know: message received.

That was the last class you have with Brittany together that day. You had to drag yourself into the other useless, boring classes until it's time for Glee club. You contemplated about actually ditching a class or two to sneak into your girlfriend's classes. But you didn't. Your attendance level is low already and you curse the school's rule about it. No matter how many A's you get, you'll never graduate if you're practically absent from everything.

When the last bell of the day finally rings, you gather your stuff as quickly as possible because you can't wait for Gle— oh who are you kidding? You can't wait to see your girlfriend. Who would, anyway?

You wait for her at your locker because that's what you do. Wait for each other at your juxtaposing lockers. But it's 5 minutes to Glee and she's nowhere near you. _Strange. _

You eventually give up and decide to walk over to the choir room, hoping to see her there. And you're right. She's there. You can't see her yet because you're still walking to the room, but you heard her laughing at something, probably at Rachel (probably not, but you'd like it very much if she was), and the sound automatically slows down your heart rate as you continue on to the door.

"Santana!" You hear Brittany's voice calling you from the other side of the room and you see a blur ball of red coming towards you. The next thing you know, you have something in your hand.

"Uh," you look at what you're holding, then at your girlfriend. "A tomato?"

Brittany leaves her seat and walks over to where you are. She has this grin that you're not sure you want to kiss off or not.

"Yeah, um," she says to you in her softest volume. "Sorry I didn't meet you at the locker. I had to run out to the mini mart across the street because the cafeteria ran out of apples. I think that story I told during Biology caught on."

"Oh, OK," you say. Now you know why she wasn't there. But then you realize you're still holding a tomato in your hands and you still don't know why. "Wanna tell me why I'm holding a tomato?"

"Well," she says, hiding both her arms behind her and kicking an imaginary ball on the floor with her right foot. She's blushing and that intrigues you but you really, really want to know why there's a tomato in your hands.

"Britt, what do you want me to do with the tomato?" you ask again.

"So," she starts again. "I really, really wanted to give you an apple. But, turns out the mini mart also ran out of apples. They only got tomatoes and bananas. Anyway, if I told you that tomato is _pomodoro_ in Italian, which actually comes from _pomo d'oro, _which means 'golden apple' in English… What _are_ you going to do about it?"


End file.
